Paint My Spirit Gold
by JustOldLights
Summary: "And then Caroline, bright young Caroline with her whole shining life ahead, was staring at him with such hope – like he held the keys to salvation." Stefan never leaves the Originals that night in Chicago, and almost a century later he leads Klaus back to Mystic Falls - and to Caroline. AU, Klefaroline.
1. Memory Lane

**Just in case it wasn't clear from the summary, this is a Klefaroline (Klaus/Caroline/Stefan) story. More plot and character driven than smutty, at least in the beginning - but still, don't read if that bothers you. And, fair warning: my fics do tend to get fairly dark-ish, so rating might go up later on. Who knows.**

**Also: this chapter is more of a prologue, set through the 1920s and detailing just how exactly this story went AU - and that's my excuse for the weird writing stile and random period slang. Next chapter will have Caroline, ****_and _****actual TVD plot.**

* * *

Prologue: Memory Lane

* * *

1.

Sleep had never come easy to Stefan.

Not even when he had been human, not even when he had been as innocent as a choir boy, the apple of his father's eye. He thought too much, Giuseppe would always say, with a laugh and a pointed look at Damon – Damon, who often got scolded for the opposite reason. Stefan was the serious son, the calm one; until he died, and was reborn, and stopped thinking altogether, lost in the blissful oblivion that came with the numbing of his conscience.

Life got easier, for a while.

And then came Lexi, and she brought along all the love and companionship Damon now refused him, and the _guilt_, the gut-wrenching agony of being a monster.

With Lexi came fifty years of nightmares.

But that was all in the past, now. _Bygones_, as Nik would say, shrugging away the mistakes of the past with a cheerful smile. Bygones, they all were, and now Stefan slept soundly every night, as peaceful as a baby.

Sometimes, after a particularly good night – a _loud_ night, the echoes of music and screams and laughter still ringing in his ears, the taste of booze and alcohol in on his tongue –

Sometimes, before falling asleep, Stefan would roll over and take a long drag off his cigarette, and remember just how boring life used to be –

How he'd never really lived, until Nik came along.

2.

Chicago was their home, had been for more than a year now; and yet, they ran.

"What _the hell_ is going on?" Stefan asked Nik the moment they got out of Gloria's, looking from him to Rebekah – beautiful, disheveled, _scared_.

Rebekah was _never_ scared.

"We're leaving," Nik told him, his voice dry. "Now."

He started walking again, dragging Rebekah along by her hand, and Stefan had to run to catch up with them, surprised at their reaction. They'd been raided before, too many times to count, laughed through it all and walked away. But tonight –

Tonight had been different. _Wooden bullets_, he remembered. _They know_.

"Nik?" he called. "Where are we going?"

The other man turned sharply, eyes drilling into Stefan's own, and he took a step back without meaning to. They were in a small alley, narrow and dimly-lit, and all he could see of Nik were his eyes, burning with rage under the streetlights. "Me and Rebekah are going, Stefan. As for you –"

"Nik, no."

It was Rebekah, her voice echoing his thoughts, and she was _crying_ –

Stefan had never seen Rebekah cry before, never even _imagined_ it. Crying is for the weak, Giuseppe used to say, and Rebekah was anything back.

Rebekah was fearless, and stunning, and _bright_. Stronger than Stefan, by far, as she liked to remind him. Rebekah was all those things and more –

and still, she was trembling like a leaf.

"I can't do it again, Nik," she was saying. "Not again, not again please, we can't leave Stefan behind. He'll find him –"

"Bekah, calm down."

Stefan was staring at the two of them, trying to make sense out of whatever it was they were saying. _Who's he_, he wanted to ask, _he_, who made even Rebekah cry like a scared girl. He wanted to ask, but didn't want to know.

"Here's the thing, Stefan," Nik began. "We are leaving Chicago _now_. You are welcome to join us, or go your merry way."

For Stefan, there was never any doubt. Rebekah was looking at him, expectantly, and Nik had on that lazy smile that meant everything and nothing, and he left himself smile, despite everything.

"Where are we going?"

3.

They went to Minneapolis, of all places.

When Stefan asked, Nik said it was because he'd never been in the city before. Stefan had, at the turn of the century, for almost six months.

"So, you are telling me," Stefan asked. "That there _are_ places you've never seen? I thought you must have been everywhere, in all this time."

"In the Old World, everywhere. Asia. Here…" Nik paused, and Stefan found himself wondering, how it would feel to live that long. Would he even remember his father's face, in nine hundred years? Damon's? Katherine?

"This city is barely as old as you are," Nik continued, eventually. "And we were living somewhere else at the time. There are many things I have yet to see in this county of yours, Stefan. Everything is so _new_."

He found himself mesmerized at the words, imagining. How would it feel like, to see countries and empires rise and fall –

and the _way_ he'd said it, the flicker in his blue eyes, and –

"Right, boys," Rebekah called. Stefan felt himself flinch; next to him, he heard Nik laugh softly. "I suppose it's time we go out and see this new home of ours."

They walked around the town all night, Rebekah grasping firmly on Stefan's hand as she laughed and pointed around at whatever caught her fancy, Nik following behind them with a curious look in his eyes.

"Would you look at that," she said at one point, while they were strolling through Marquette. "Tallest building in the city," she whispered into Stefan's ear. "Don't you just _love_ the modern age?"

That day they moved into a two-bedrooms apartment in one of the newest building in town, seven floors of bricks and glass, and watched the city shine through the windows, like a nest of fireflies.

And they were happy, again –

as happy as the damned could be.

4.

Rebekah left him on a rainy Sunday evening in March 1924, with far less drama than Stefan had expected.

"I'm leaving for Paris in the morning," she told him, with the same tone she might have used to say that she needed a new dress. "I think I should go alone."

Stefan only looked at her, surprised. He'd never been in a similar situation before – but then again, he'd only been in love once before Rebekah. "Just like that?"

"Just like that, Stefan," she said, and he thought she'd never looked more beautiful before. "All good things come to an end, and I don't want us to only stay together by habit." She kissed him then, and he found himself kissing back, the lingering taste of goodbye. "Thank you, Stefan," she whispered against his mouth.

"I loved you very, very much."

Then she was gone, and he left the apartment in a fury, looking for a fight.

He found it soon enough, in the form of three thugs in an alley, the special Minnesota brand of Jewish gangster that were everywhere in the north side. A few words, a couple of glances – he let them hit him first, tasting his own blood in his mouth, and then he swung back feeling the bones shatter under his fists –

and the blood, warm and rich and _flowing_ –

"Everything alright, mate?"

Stefan turned with a snarl, glaring. "Never been better," he said. "I suppose you're here to gloat and say _I told you so_?"

Nik stood with his arms crossed, looking perfectly serene. "I did, didn't I?"

"But I'm here to help you, in fact. Let's clean up your mess, and then we can go drown your sorrows."

They ended up in a club owned by some associates of the men he'd just killed, which seemed to amuse Nik to no end. Stefan, for his part, was too gone to care.

"The thing is, Stefan, you knew this would happen."

He stared at the drink in front of him, swirling it around, admiring the ways the liquid shone inside the glass. "Did I?"

"We're all fickle and capricious by nature, Stefan, and no one more so than my sister. We want excitement and thrill and passion, and these things do tend to burn out rather quickly." Nik, too, was staring at his whiskey, intensely; as if the glass in front of him held some mysterious secret. "She was nice enough to let you know before things went to hell, and now she's gone back to Europe for a month or so, so you can deal with it. Considerate of her."

"So what," Stefan asked. "Am I supposed to thank her now?"

Nik raised his head at that, looking Stefan straight in the eyes, and then –

And then he _grinned_.

"_I _will," he said. "I like having you around, and she did try her best not to scare you away from us."

He took a sip of his drink then, and Stefan drowned the entire glass. They got a second round after that, and a third and a fourth, just sitting in companionable silence.

"Stefan?" Nik called out at one point, shocking him out of that pleasant alcoholic dizziness. He sounded, Stefan found himself thinking, almost nervous.

"She didn't, didn't she? Scare you away?"

Not nervous, Stefan decided then. _Hopeful_, of all things. He had to smile at that.

"But of course," he told him. "It takes more than a broken heart to send me away."

"Good," Nik said, genuine warmth in his voice, and Stefan couldn't help but agree.

_Good_.

5.

Rebekah's three-weeks long Parisian vacation turned into a four-months trip around Europe, or so Stefan gathered from all the letters she sent. They were all addressed to Nik – none for Stefan, and that did not hurt _at all_ –, from France and Germany and England, and with every one came the news that she might just stay a little longer, visit another city, take another train. Nik grew more furious by the day.

"Whatever for?" Stefan asked him one day. "She can look after herself pretty well, can't she?"

He received a glare in return. "Stefan, mate," Nik told him, as affably as ever. "Perhaps you should keep your mouth shout when you've got no idea what you're talking about."

Stefan thought back to that night in Chicago, to the wooden bullets and Rebekah crying; and he kept his mouth shout.

He went with a few girls, though none was as beautiful as Rebekah, and he never brought back any of them to the apartment either. Maybe he was still enamored, as Nik always teased him, but he was getting better.

He _was _getting better, whatever Nik said –

until the day he saw a familiar face again, and everything went to hell.

"I cannot believe my eyes."

It was summer, and unusually cold July, a typical evening spent at one of Kid Cann's clubs with a bottle of imported Irish whiskey and a pretty young woman who might not survive the night.

"Stefan Salvatore, I looked everywhere for you, you heartless bastard."

It was Lexi, and she looked furious.

"Lexi!" he greeted, trying to sound calm and unflappable. Trying to ignore the weight of her stare. "Come sit with us."

She did, warily, raising an eyebrow at Nik's half smile. Her eyes darted from Stefan, to Nik, to the young woman – Cathy or Christine or something – and he knew she could smell the wound on the girl's wrist where he'd fed off from the night before.

"Lexi, this is Nik," he introduced. "Nik, Lexi, an old friend of mine."

It didn't seem to calm her down. "What _is_ all this, Stefan?"

"I thought that'd be clear enough, sweetheart," Nik cut in before Stefan could answer. "Dinner."

"Stefan," she sighed. "Why did you even start again? You know how you get."

He remembered the funeral, Damon, _the woman_. "Oh, don't worry," was all he said, as bold as he could manage; but inside he was shaking. "Nik, here, is going to make sure I don't kill off the whole city."

"That's cute," she said. "Stefan, really, can we _talk_?"

The desperation was palpable enough, he could almost _touch_ it. He smiled at her. "We are talking, aren't we?"

Lexi left two hours later, her face dark, saying something about how it was obviously a bad moment and promising he could always come to her if he ever needed help. She hugged him before leaving, and Stefan felt something inside him melt.

That night the nightmares came back with a vengeance, for the first time in years, and Stefan woke up in his bed sweating and crying and cursing Rebekah, because it was all her fault that he had started to feel again, that he let himself care, and love; and with the love came the heartbreak and the guilt.

"I hate not being in control," he told Nik the next morning. "I feel like some stupid beast. I hate it so much."

"Well," Nik told him, after a long moment. "Good thing I'm here to make sure you don't kill off the whole city, right?"

That he did; Nik was nothing if not careful. Thrifty, even.

The girl named Cathy, or maybe Christie, or something –

they played games for an entire week before she died.

6.

Rebekah came back the first week of August, and trouble followed.

Stefan woke up one morning to the sounds of a rather explosive argument, complete with shouts and threats and knives flying around the kitchen.

"You," Nik was saying, "are a selfish, ungrateful little brat. You said one month, Bekah, _one month_ and then you go and disappear – "

" – _I_ am selfish, now? And I wrote you, you sap, every other day, all to make sure – "

" – you shouldn't have stayed in the first place, I told you to come back – "

Then there was the sound of something falling to the floor. Some kind of pan, Stefan decided, most likely.

He opened the door, slowly.

"Stefan."

Rebekah's hair was shorter, her face softer. For a moment she looked like she wanted to ask all those silly questions with no real answer – how have you been; are we alright; you really stayed – but then all she did was smile.

"I'm glad you're still here," she said; and Stefan realized that he did not feel bitter at all.

"So am I."

Then he realized something.

"The room," he found himself saying, nervous. He didn't care much for being on the receiving end of one of Rebekah's bursts of anger; not now when he could no longer reap the benefits of a reconciliation. "I completely forgot you'll need a place to stay, I'll move out, find another apartment – "

"Don't be an idiot, Stefan," Nik interrupted him. "You can share with me."

Rebekah rolled her eyes then, letting out a sniff as she looked from Stefan to her brother. "_Really_, Nik?"

Nik only smiled. "I do nothing but rise to the occasion, sister."

Stefan could only stare, confused, wondering what they were talking about. Rebekah laughed. "Well, I wanted to ask you about looking for a bigger place, you know. Still, Stefan," she said. "In the meanwhile, I'll help you move your things."

Ten days or so later, Rebekah was comfortably settled in again, and immediately proceeded to tell Nik just how much she missed her _other_ brother.

"Well, _one_ of the others," she explained Stefan. "Kol. I haven't seen him in almost fifteen years now, I think it might be time for a reunion."

Then she turned to Nik, who had done his best to ignore her for the entirely of her monologue. "_Please_, Nik. I am so terribly bored. You boys are always together doing… _boy_ things –"

and she smirked there, a delicate flash of pearly-white teeth –

"and I'm all alone, and I _miss_ him."

Stefan frowned at her, curious. "Can't you just go look for him by yourself?" he asked her after hearing the same request for three days in a row. "Is that why you were in Europe?"

Rebekah laughed then, but it sounded more bitter than anything else. "You, my dear, are adorable. Don't ever change."

"Did you just hear Stefan, Nik?" she called out, before Stefan could ask anymore questions. "Asking, why don't I go _look_ for Kol, like he's hiding somewhere on purpose. Poor little Stefan, still thinking who can do no wrong.

"Mark my words brother, you'll scare him away worse than I ever could."

"You have such a high opinion of me, Rebekah," Stefan told her, but she only laughed again.

"Wait and see, Stefan," she said, shaking her head. "Wait and see."

7.

Kol had brown hair and a mischievous smile, and he immediately reminded Stefan of his brother, even if they looked nothing alike.

"The same brother you can't stand?" Nik asked. "Because in that case, yes, it's a very accurate comparison."

"Now, don't be rude, brother," said man interrupted, joining in. "You know you missed me."

"On occasions. Like I would miss a stake in my heart."

It was the first day at the new house, an obscenely big one-storey on the outskirts of the city. Stefan and Nik had been playing poker all morning, hand after hand, until Rebekah arrived with her long-lost brother in tow.

"So," Kol began, "what is this thing I heard about alcohol being outlawed?"

Stefan had to turn to look at him in surprise, eyes narrowed. _What the hell?_

"And also, Nik, what are you doing living in this bore of a place? Because if you aren't going back south, I know I am."

"No, you aren't." Stefan flinched at the harshness in his voice, and so did Kol. "Look, ask Bekah if you want, is complicated. I don't want to talk about it."

"Right." Kol frowned, then glanced at the deck of cards in Stefan's hands. "Deal me in?"

Stefan shrugged, adding a few more cards to the reduced deck, shuffling the ones in his hands. One-one-one, two-two-two, until they all had five cards each. "How comes you didn't know about Prohibition?" he asked. "Where the hell have you been living, under a rock?"

Kol looked surprised that he'd talked at all. "And who are you again?"

"This is Stefan Salvatore," Nik cut in. "A friend of mine."

A friend of Nik's –

It sounded much better than _Rebekah's former lover,_ Stefan decided. She had a string of those, after all, and they were all gone and forgotten now, and Stefan –

Stefan wasn't.

"Right," Kol grinned at him. "Stefan Salvatore, Nik's new ripper best friend." He paused, studying him. "You don't even look like a poof that much, pity for the hair. And, to answer your question, under a rather heavy piece of wood."

8.

"Whatever did he mean?" Stefan asked Nik later that evening, once Kol had gone out with Rebekah to _reacquaint himself with the world_, or so he'd said.

"About where he's been living? We had a fight," Nik said. "I won. Kol was never in Europe or anywhere else, he followed us all the way from Chicago."

That sounded like a rather interesting story, Stefan decided, and maybe he would ask Nik – or Kol – something more about it, later on. But now –

"Not _that_," he struggled to explain. "The other thing."

"Oh."

Nik raised his head, his clear eyes drilling into Stefan's own, looking –

– strangely conflicted –

as if he were struggling to keep up a sober face for Stefan's sake, but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. He looked like Damon always used to whenever Katherine would decline Stefan's company for his brother's, trying to be understanding and failing miserably.

"Kol," Nik began, slowly, and clearly nowhere as displeased with his brother as he pretended to be. "Might be under the impression that you and I are lovers."

Of all the answers in the world, Stefan hadn't expected _this_.

"Really," he heard himself saying, not quite sure what to say, Nik staring at him expectant, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

After a while, Stefan found his voice again. "I thought you liked women," was all he could manage, mentally going back through the past three years and a half, trying to remember the girls Nik had brought home – if they'd been for pleasure, but they must have been. They never brought men at home, he would've noticed –

Nik laughed.

It was a full, hearty laugh, Stefan couldn't help but notice; – pure, unadulterated amusement, so different from the drunken chuckles he was used to hearing from Nik. This was a rich, practiced sound, studiously charming, a performance in itself. And, in spite of the topic of conversation –

or maybe _because_ of it –

his eyes darted to the other man's lips, the way they curled around his teeth as he laughed, the glimmer in his eyes.

"I like women," he began. "And I like everything else, Stefan, anything fun. There isn't much you won't try when you've lived long enough. Every experience, every adventure …"

Nik paused, smiling slightly, his voice lower.

"Every shade of perversion"

Stefan found himself thinking that he might just lose himself under the weight of that blue, unblinking gaze. He was suddenly aware of just how _old_ the man in front of him was; he'd never felt so inexperienced since Katherine.

"But, _hey_, mate, no pressure."

Nik winked at him, friendly; nothing more, nothing less. "You're fun either ways."

And that should have been the end of it –

but somehow it wasn't.

9.

The thing was, as days went by, Stefan couldn't stop thinking about it. _Him_. What he'd said, the _way_ he'd said it –

He was sure Nik knew.

So did Kol, who was never around long enough to have a full conversation, but still managed to insert the filthiest jokes Stefan had ever heard into every other sentence.

So did Rebekah, maybe, who was quite taken with her beau of the week, a the whole bunch of them. Stefan no longer cared when he saw her at the arm of a different man every night, no longer felt the blinding rage of jealousy, the blood boiling in his veins –

which was a good thing, he figured, he _hoped_ –

or a terrible thing, because it meant that his interest now lay somewhere else, with _someone_ else.

They never lasted for long, those lovers of Rebekah, disappeared after a spat or the other, or when she bored of them. Some of them just went away; some others she killed.

Sometimes she would let Stefan help her.

Some other times Nik would do it, and he _requested_ Stefan's help, every time, and when it was done –

when it was done he would run a thumb across Stefan's cheek, under his eyes, catching every drop of blood he might have missed; and then he smiled, lips curving in a slow grin, looking almost scarlet under the streetlights.

"We work so well together Stefan, don't we?"

10.

Stefan woke up sweating, crushed under the weight of a guilty consciousness one night in August, 1926.

It was just a moment, a single, fleeting instant and then –

it came crashing down all of a sudden, that wall he'd built so carefully over the decades, the neat divide between Stefan the emotionless monster and Stefan the hopeful boy –

and he heard himself gasp for air he didn't need, and when he looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood.

And there he remained, laying down on his mattress and thinking of the men lying in their graves, graves he'd put them into. How many, he wondered. Hundreds, spread through sixty years; maybe even thousands –

He would know, if he'd only bothered to write down all their names; but sometimes the hunger was so strong and he just –

Sometimes he just forgot.

Their names, their lives, that they were people at all. They all died too easily, gone in the blink of an eye, and he'd never known just how many he'd killed.

11.

After that night came morning, badly.

He didn't move, didn't go out – he knew all too well what would happen if he did. Nik came to him in the afternoon, shouting from the corridor about some appointment that Stefan had missed, only to halt the moment he stepped through the door.

"Stefan, mate, what the hell happened to you?"

He almost sounded worried, Stefan registered; but it all felt so distant, so unreal – from Nik's frown to the mahogany shade of the wooden floor, to the unbearable softness of his feather pillow. It was a good pillow, more than a monster deserved.

And the man standing by his door, the man in the crisp suit with a concerned look in his blue eyes, that man –

that man was as much of a monster as Stefan himself.

"Go away," Stefan told him. "Please."

He didn't.

He came closer instead. "Stefan, don't be a sap," Nik said. "What's it? You're moodier than Rebekah."

"What _is_ wrong," Stefan began, staring pointedly at the ceiling. "Is that I killed two men last night, and one more four days ago, and god only knows how many I'll kill next month."

"Ah, well," Nik sounded almost gleeful. "Is that pesky emotion switch, isn't it?"

It was _disgusting_ how calm the other man was. Stefan only nodded, waiting.

"That big fat lie new vampires tell themselves to feel better?"

Stefan sat down and turned so that he could look Nik in the eyes. "Don't patronize me."

"Don't patronize yourself, Stefan." His voice was low enough to be almost a growl. "You do whatever you want and you own it like a man, or ignore it and pretend it never happened, but don't blame your actions on not having emotions, not when you were mooning over my sister for years."

"So, what am I supposed to do?" He _really_ hadn't meant to say the words – it just happened. Nike gave him a self-satisfied grin.

"I don't know, Stefan, what are you supposed to do?"

Go find Lexi, wherever she was, and go through everything again. Go find Damon, if he's stopped hating him, and try to survive. Go back to a boring life of self-pity, and hatred, and loneliness –

"I have no idea."

"You could try stop being a whiny little child, or you could try controlling what you are for a change," Nik said. "Or, you could try getting out of bed and out of the house."

"I killed my father."

He spoke without thinking once again, mentally cursing himself for it. He'd never said it out loud since 1864; only two people knew, and they never talked about it. It was his first shame, first loss of control, the point of no return.

Nik didn't look repulsed, or understanding, or even interested. He didn't try ask awkward questions, didn't offer condolences. Instead he looked –

He looked _impressed_, of all things.

"I wish I could say the same."

_Definitely_ impressed. And, before Stefan could ask what he'd meant, Nik spoke up once again. "Look, Stefan, I kept you from eating the whole city for years, I can keep doing it, as long as you don't decide to get boring."

He turned and walked away, only to stop halfway through the door.

"And do stop with the self hatred, mate," he added. "Trust me, I've seen worse. You _really_ can't call yourself a monster unless you've lived through the Middle Ages."

12.

Killing hurt, now; but he couldn't stop.

And, Stefan figured, if he hurt, then maybe it was alright he made others hurt, too.

Nik noticed the change, but didn't say anything about it, until the day Stefan called him out on it.

"You could do something," Stefan told him after another long night, blood on his clothes and his face, and in his mouth, and it tasted like _shame_.

"I could," Nik agreed. "But then it'd be terribly boring. You're the one doing it all wrong."

"What," Stefan spat out. "Having a conscience?"

"Among other things." He shrugged. "You know – my father, the one I wish I had killed, only drinks from vampires. I suppose it helps him and his self-righteous conscience sleep better at night."

That was the second time he heard about Klaus's father. "Why didn't you kill him?"

It all sounded pretty poetic to Stefan's ears – children killing their fathers, how Freudian. It surely made for a good metaphor, and what better metaphor than two –

he struggled to define Nik, even to himself

– two friends. _Friend_ was good, _safe_. What better metaphor than two _friends_ marked by the same sin?

"I can't," Nik said, looking for all the world perfectly calm – but for the rage in his eyes. "Immortal, remember?"

Stefan found himself frowning. "But I thought you'd killed others in your family. You told me so yourself."

The other man shrugged again, a smirk on his lips. "Poetic license, for simplicity's sake." Nik's smirk turned into a smile then –

a slow, predatory smile. "Or maybe I just wanted to impress you."

"Impress me." Stefan laughed. "Do you need to impress me?"

"I don't know," Nik said; and so close all of a sudden, Stefan could feel his breath on his skin. "Do I?"

And then he _kissed_ him, like one would kiss a girl – a young, nervous girl, a blushing virgin. Nik kissed him, for one small, fleeting moment, the barest brush at the corner of Stefan's mouth, so quick he could almost have _imagined_ it –

But he hadn't; Nik's lips were red with blood now, the blood of Stefan's victims, and he just _looked_ at him.

"You should go get yourself cleaned up, mate," he told him. "You're a mess."

13.

In 1927 Stefan learned the real story behind Klaus's father, and that he'd been the one to find them in Chicago – and many times before, Nik explained, the last one in Louisiana; but he wouldn't talk about it. He learned about the curse and the daggers, where Kol had _really_ been for fifteen years, and that maybe – just maybe – Nik was a bigger monster than Stefan himself. It made him feel better, all things considered; _misery loves company_ and all that jazz.

That was the year Rebekah left again, with no return date this time, and she hugged him before leaving like a woman would a friend, like they hadn't been – _something_. Like now he wasn't – whatever he was to her brother. She hugged him, and whispered in his ear _thank you_, and he wanted to ask her _for what_.

1927 was also when Stefan _kissed_ –

the year Stefan _let_ Nik kiss him for the first time, one very lazy evening sometime in November, when they'd both been drunk on blood and booze. It was unexpected and different and surprisingly pleasant, and Nik looked altogether too smug for days after.

Life, as the say, went on.

The months went by and they left Minneapolis for New York, _finally_, after Kol had gone his own way to the West Coast that winter. Life New York was a whole new experience, beautiful and – in Stefan's opinion – was too short.

The first time _Stefan_ kissed Nik it was spring 1928, and there was nothing remarkable about it except for Nik becoming absolutely _insufferable_. "You have just become a much more interesting person, Stefan," he told him. "Congratulation. Shall I get you a medal?"

They couldn't quite seem to stop after that, days made of wandering eyes and hands and mouths, a lustful frenzy Stefan couldn't remember feeling since Katherine. They didn't bother talking about it, not really, but for the one time the did.

"I'm not my sister, Stefan," Nik told him once, after he'd asked him, _what the hell are we doing_. "I don't want fancy show-off and tearful confessions and promises of eternity made to be broken. I want –"

he paused, looking for words he couldn't find. Stefan understood, though. He wanted it _all_.

"Just do stick around as long as it's fun," Nik finished. "I think we're quite on the same page here, aren't we?"

They were, always been – and that was the crux of the matter. Stefan, who'd craved companionship, _belonging_, since he'd died; and Nik, whom he'd started to realize was probably even worse.

Stefan nodded, and Nik stared, unblinkingly. "Good."

"Do keep in mind, Stefan, I always get what I want."

And that he did.

14.

Almost exactly eighty years later, Stefan Salvatore arrived in Mystic Falls, Virginia, following a legend – and there he met a girl.

* * *

**So, here it is. Good? Bad? Meh? Please let me know! I'll update depending on the response – TVD isn't my primary fandom ****_and_**** I'm crazy busy with uni work, so I'd really like to know if people are actually interested in reading this before I spend hours on it. More reviews = faster updates – and I'll post chapter two ASAP if I can get at least five. Promise!**


	2. Homecoming

Anon reviews replies: Hybrid-barbie, thank you! I'm usually not much for Klefan without Caroline either, but it had to be done here and I'm_ so_ glad you liked it, since I was so nervous about posting it. And – yep, absolutely. Plotless stuff gets boring after a while, however sexy it might be. Also, Rebekah will pop in and out, much like the rest of the Originals, but I absolutely adore her to pieces and I'll probably take any chance to write her in all the time. Also, thanks to Anonymous, ANON and xElizabethx – Elena will be in (she's introduced in this chapter actually) but things will go down differently.

**Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favs. ****I was going to wait at least a couple more days but y**ou blew me away - 34 followers, this is seriously crazy. So, I suppose I'll be writing like crazy this weekend because I like to be a couple chapters ahead of posting, and I'll end up out of prewritten stuff in no time if you keep being this awesome.  
So, I promise some actual plot this time, as well as (finally) Caroline. BTW, you might notice some line from 1x01 here. I usually hate recycling dialogues, but here I had lots of fun trying to give the characters different reason to do familiar things – it's a very minor thing though. Fair warning: (slightly) darker Stefan.

* * *

Homecoming

* * *

He shouldn't have come home, Stefan realized. He really, _really_ shouldn't have – but still he kept going back, like a moth drawn to the flame. Oh, well – now that he'd arrived, the least he could do was to say hi.

He rang the doorbell, once, twice, hearing the footsteps in the distance. One heartbeat, no guests. _Good_. Four, three, two, one –

The door opened, and Stefan smiled.

"Hey there, Zach. Long time no see, right?"

Saying that Zach didn't look pleased to see him would have been an understatement. "Uncle Stefan. What – what are you doing here?"

Stefan stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He didn't need it, not here. "Just passing through. You know, the usual." Torturing himself with memories he could never escape, for no particular reason but his guilt. "Is my stuff where I left it the last time?"

"Yes," Zach nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Wonderful."

The last time Stefan had gone back to Mystic Falls had been for the funeral of Zach's father, twelve years earlier. His sister had gotten married and moved to Rhode Island, and Zach's cousins had left town even earlier, too scared to share a legacy –and, occasionally, a house – with the little family secrets. Poor Zach, Stefan thought to himself, utterly alone by his own doing. He wondered which one of his vampire relatives the man hated the most. Stefan made no illusion about what kind of man he was – a bloodthirsty, uncontrollable mess of a monster – but Damon…

now, Damon was just plain _mad_.

His room was exactly how he'd left it, door locked and white sheets draped around on the furniture. The picture of Katherine was there too, dusty and faded, and his old journals and clothes and books, all the remains of the person he once was. Stefan lost count of how many hours he spent in the room, sorting and remembering, trying to decide which old notebooks and vintage LPs he should take back with him.

The sky was already dark when he decided to go outside, stumbling on Zach , who was pacing around nervously in the living room. "Don't worry," Stefan told him, making him jump. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, first thing."

Why anyone would voluntarily live in Mystic Falls was beyond him. He'd even told Zach himself as much, the last time, saying he should leave the town and his cumbersome family history behind, like the rest of the family had done. Zach had shaken his head and looked incredulous, mumbling something about protecting the town and how Stefan wouldn't understand anyway. _Well, you've made your bed, Zach_.

His nephew looked relieved for a brief moment, then worried.

"Could you…" he began, then paused. "You won't –"

"Snack on the locals?" Stefan asked him. "That would be terribly rude of me, wouldn't it? But, imagine what it would do for this town's popularity, with all those Founders events coming up. Vampire legends, so folkloristic."

He left then, leaving behind a stuttering Zach – the man obviously didn't know him at all. Stefan didn't _do_ snacks, had never quite learned how to. Stefan did slaughter and massacres and _guilt_, the world's greatest high and the biggest shame, a rollercoaster that never stopped. _Bipolar_, Kol had called him once, and Stefan'd had to laugh because – honestly – kettle and pot, much?

He wouldn't be feeding on the locals, not _those_ locals anyway – but Zach didn't really need to know. The man was funniest when he was going mad.

It was almost midnight when Stefan found himself by his family's tomb with a bottle of red wine, wishing he could have found something stronger.

"To Giuseppe, may he burn in hell," he toasted the empty air, feeling the weigh of the words, tasting the alcohol on his lips and wishing it were something else. "And to Katherine, who's done enough burning already." _And to poor little Stefan Salvatore, shot to dead_.

He was almost drunk when he stumbled out of the cemetery, but still not drunk enough. Not drunk enough to trip over on his way back, not enough to imagine lights that weren't there, not drunk enough not to notice that car speeding, going over the bridge, _falling into the water_ –

Life, Stefan knew better than most people, was made of choices. Take a left or a right. Do well and do wrong. Spare that you woman over there, the one crying, or drink her to death. Accept what you are, even if you don't like it –

Jump in the water after the car, trying to give back for all the lives you took –

But you know you're too far gone to be saved, and just _stop_.

Stop and watch them die.

There was a family in the car, father, mother, a dark-haired daughter. The woman was inert, could even be dead, but the other two were still awake, gasping, struggling, pushing on the windows that wouldn't open – and they knew it, knew that they would _die_ in there –

and still they _tried_.

What a beautiful thing, the fighting spirit of this ephemeral people.

Stefan swam around the car, lazily, looking mesmerized at the family in the car, so doomed, so furious.

And then it came resignation. Stefan could pinpoint the exact moment when the girl stopped fighting and breathed in, welcoming death. She looked how one could imagine a mermaid, hair floating around her face, and he stared at that lithe body and wondered how old she could be. Seventeen, maybe – Stefan's age, when he'd died.

He met the eyes of the man for a moment – still alive, but not for long – and then he turned his gaze back on the girl, and the world stopped.

_Her face_.

The face that had haunted his dreams for decades. The face of the woman he'd loved and lost, if it had ever been love at all, who had brought him to death and gave him new life.

He slammed open the car door without thinking, ripping off the seatbelt, swimming upwards. He had to see, had to see if it was truly her or some trick of his mind.

And once they were on the surface again Stefan looked again – to the same face he remembered, the face he loved and hated in equal measure. It wasn't a trick of his mind, and the girl was most definitely human, but still – he'd never seen a resemblance so incredible in his whole life.

Stefan left her on the riverbank and went back to the boarding house, stopping by his car to find dry clothes to change into. Zach was still awake, talking at the phone, and Stefan wondered if it had something to do with the dead couple in the car – after all, no bad news had its own special way to spread like fire.

Zach stopped talking when he saw him, taking in his damp clothes and the dry ones in his hands, frowning. He excused himself and ended the car in a hurry, turning to Stefan.

"The Gilberts' car went off Wickery Bridge," he said. "You know anything about that?"

"Gilbert, eh?" Stefan asked, interested. "As in the Founding Family Gilberts?"

Zach nodded. "Yes. And please, please tell me that they won't find three mauled bodies in there because –"

"Two," Stefan cut in. "Two bodies, not mauled. I got the girl out in time." _And didn't lift a finger for the parents_.

Zach stared at him like he couldn't comprehend the idea of a vampire doing something selfless, for once, and Stefan found himself smiling at his confusion. Zach was right to distrust him, of course, but he didn't need to know that.

"You got Elena out?"

_Elena Gilbert_. So that was her name, and if Zach knew her then it was almost assured that there couldn't be anything supernatural about her. A coincidence, maybe.

Stefan nodded. "You can stop looking so shocked, you know. I'll see you in the morning."

And then he went to his room – to change, and to make a call.

* * *

Nik, Stefan decided, was out of the question. It was late enough in London that Stefan knew he wouldn't get any answers if he called now. A witch, maybe, old Gloria or Denise in Tennessee – but any witch would ask for a price.

Or maybe, he thought, the man who made a point of keeping informed of all kinds of oddities, collecting stories like a human would collect postmarks.

One ring, two, three.

"Stefan Salvatore," Kol greeted him. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Kol," Stefan answered. "Did I interrupt anything?" It was past midnight now, after all, and Kol rarely slept alone.

"Would you mind if you had?"

Stefan chuckled. "Not really."

"Then please skip the pleasantries and tell me whatever is that you want to say, Stefan. You're interrupting."

Stefan took a breath. How could he even begin to explain? He would sound crazy – hell, the whole thing _was_ crazy, to begin with.

"Still interrupting, Stefan."

"Okay," he began. "Here it is. What if I told you that I just saw a girl, a human girl, who happens to look _exactly_ like the dead vampire who turned me? It's not a resemblance, it's uncanny – like they were the same person."

Silence.

"Kol," Stefan said, pacing through the length of the room. "Still there?"

The line _sounded_ like there was someone on the other side, but maybe Kol had just decided to drop the phone and go back to whatever he'd been doing. Stefan was about to hang up when he heard a chocked sound on the other side.

"Stefan," Kol began, after clearing his throat. "The vampire who turned you, was by any chance a young woman by the name of Katerina? Brown eyes and hair, petite, very pretty?"

Stefan frowned. _How did he…_ "Katherine," he said. "Her name was Katherine."

Kol laughed. "Well, who would've thought. You'd better call Nik – and don't forget to tell him who was the one who told you about this whole thing. Tell him he should get me something very, very nice."

* * *

"Wait," Stefan said, frowning. It had been three days since the night he'd met the strange girl who looked so much like Katherine, and Nik had told him to _please hurry the hell up_ and get to London as soon as possible. He'd been waiting in the Chelsea house, pacing through the length of the living room and looking borderline maniac, excited and nervous like a naughty child at Christmas.

"So, my Katherine, and your doppelganger… they are the same person?"

"I sincerely doubt she was ever _your_ Katherine, mate." Nik told him, sounding terribly smug, as usual. "But yes."

_Fuck you_, Stefan thought. "That's great," he said instead, deadpan. "Now, could you just – please stop walking up and down? It's getting on my nerves."

Nik obliged, sitting down on an armchair, but still looking like he had far too much energy to burn. "How old is she? The girl?"

"I don't know. Seventeen, eighteen." Stefan had really never been good with ages. He sank down on the leather sofa, sprawling down, closing his eyes. "So, how come I never knew this?"

The other man shrugged. "I don't know. Must have slipped my mind."

"Of course it did it," Stefan muttered. He privately guessed that it was more something to do with Nik being a controlling, paranoid bastard, but there wasn't much to be done about that.

They remained in silence after that – well, Stefan remained silent. Nik wouldn't stop fidgeting, blinking and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and Stefan could almost feel the wheels in his brain turning.

"What's wrong with you?" Stefan asked him. "Shouldn't you be – _happier_?"

"Not quite," he told him. "You see, I can't do the ritual quite yet. I'm – there's something else I need, first."

"Fine." Stefan knew better than ask questions in a time like this, and frankly didn't really care. He was tired, bored and jet-lagged; all the allure of the mysterious girl had vanished the moment he'd found out the reason for that startling resemblance. And Katherine – he'd never really known her at all.

Maybe he should go sleep it off. Or get very, very drunk.

"By the way," Stefan added, remembering. "Your brother wanted you to know that he was the one who told me to call you, and he's probably expecting some sort of gift." He opened his eyes for a brief moment, staring at the white of the ceiling. It was day outside, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept.

"Of course he does," Nik sounded exasperated. "For such an important contribution."

"Speaking of." Stefan opened his eyes again and turned to look at the other man. "I'll have you know, the doppelganger girl was dying when I saw her. Drowning, actually."

"Tragic."

"Very," Stefan agreed. "Point is, I think we can all agree that my contribution _was_ actually important."

"So what, are expecting a thank you note?"

"Actually," he began, and Nik leaned in – just the slightest bit, and Stefan smiled to himself. It was a game they played; and he so loved to win. "I think you owe me a favor."

"I do, don't I?" He was _definitely_ leaning in now, lips parted, slow grin, eyes darkened. Stefan felt a slight tingle of satisfaction in his victory. Game, set, checkmate.

"Not really that kind of favor, but thanks."

Nik recoiled as fast as if he'd slapped him, looking slightly deflated for once, to Stefan's satisfaction. Do not give in first, that was the game, and he really enjoyed his bragging rights.

"Shame," Nik said. "So, what is it?"

"_Carte blanche_. Whatever, whenever." He ignored Nik's less-than-impressed face. "I did just spared you an eternity of coursed moping, you know. I think it's the least you can do."

And would you look at that. Stefan Salvatore, hero rescuer of young girls in mortal danger. It would never be not funny.

* * *

Nik's obnoxious attitude persisted through the next day, and the day after that, and however many nights Stefan spent getting wasted and trying not to think that he'd spent years loving – and decades mourning – a woman he'd barely known, not to mention Nik's undoubtedly _very_ bloody part in the whole mess.

About a week in, he got a proposition.

"No."

"How rude of you."

What Nik called _rude_ Stefan called _sensible_. "Excuse me if I don't jump at your offer to babysit a teenage doppelganger, _mate_." _In Mystic Falls, of all places_, he thought, but that went without saying. _Of all places…_ A teenage doppelganger who would be dead soon enough, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. After all, what was one more death? He'd seen so many.

"Because you have so many interesting things to do, right?"

"Look, Stefan," he continued. "You said it yourself that she almost died once. I'd rather avoid a repeat of Katerina, taking the girl before everything's read – I need someone to keep an eye on her, do not make me ask Rebekah."

"Would it kill you," Stefan asked, "to say _please_? It's an actual word, you know. Look it up."

"Mmm, you know, I think it just might."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "I'm still not doing it."

"Oh, _come on_," Nik said. "Don't act like it's a _chore_, Stefan, it's a pretty girl. They always are," he added that last part with the barest hint of resentment in his voice. "And this one's human, just think of the _possibilities_. Whatever you want."

"Right." Stefan had a pretty clear idea of what the other man meant for _whatever you want_. He and Kol had made a sport of seducing humans all across the globe, no compulsion necessary, playing with lives on a whim. Nik collected love letters and broken hearts like most women collected shoes, and he'd even encouraged Stefan to do the same, one or twice – egging him on from the sidelines, whispering in his ear from the shadows, Stefan's very own version of a twisted, depraved guardian angel.

But Stefan was a whole different kind of monster, a simpler one – he would take blood and death over slow debaucheries any day.

"Not really my thing, you know."

"Right," Nik said, echoing Stefan's word. "Sometimes you have this incredible way of sucking all the fun from a conversation."

"_Still_ not going," Stefan repeated once again. Maybe, he thought to himself, if he said no enough time Nik would give up.

"Yes you are. Just give me time."

Two months later Stefan moved back to Mystic Falls, wondering just how _distraught_ poor Zach would look when he opened the door.

Two months, one week, and four days later, Stefan met Caroline Forbes for the first time.

* * *

Elena Gilbert, it turned out, was seventeen years old, and a junior at the local high school. Stefan hadn't really considered the school at first, boring as it was bound to be – hell, university lectures bored him after the third time, eleventh-grade literature would be pure torture – but in the end he'd changed his mind, giving Zach one really enlightened speech about normalcy and do-overs and whatnot. His nephew had clearly not believed a single word of it – _good_, Stefan thought to himself. At least watching him rack his brains would be fun.

And so Stefan showed up at Mystic Falls High on an August morning, and compelled his way into all of the doppelganger's classes. At least they weren't to terrible, he noticed with some relief, discreet syllabus and a couple of APs. _It could have been worse_, he told himself as he walked through the corridors full of noisy teenagers, feeling the weigh of the stares.

He followed the girl all day, making sure not to be noticed, around the school and the town, and to the cemetery where –

_something_ happened, and he really hoped there were no witches involved.

By the end of the day he'd secured an invitation into Elena Gilbert's house, and a dinner invitation he almost declined, before deciding that maybe getting acquainted with the girl's circle of friends wouldn't be a bad thing.

Two girls and a boy, not counting the doppelganger, all of them looking so young and hopeful, so naïve. Stefan dodged some questions and answered others, making awful small talk and stealing glances at the clock by the bar counter.

"So, Stefan, if you're new, then you don't know about the party tomorrow."

It was the blonde girl, the one with the blue-green eyes and the beauty queen smile, staring at him intently. Hearing her voice, Stefan wished he'd paid attention to her name. Something fairly elaborate, no doubt, a name as pretty as she was – Amanda, maybe, or Charlotte; she looked like a Charlotte. Sarah, perhaps.

The girl was looking at him with an expectant expression on her face, and so were the others. "It's a back to school thing," the other girl said, the dark-skinned girl with the striking green eyes. "At the Falls."

_Right_. The Falls – dark, by the woods, with no supervision. There had been an attack a few days ago, Zach had made sure to tell him, accusingly. Stefan had made a point of leaving town to feed whenever blood bags wouldn't suffice, and if _really_ there was another vampire around town…

Teenage party, Stefan remembered. _There's bound to be alcohol, at leas_t.

He turned to Elena, pretended not to see the disappointed look in the blonde girl's eyes – he tried to pick a name again, one that would suit her. Haley? Lindsey?

"Are you going?" he asked Elena.

"Of course she is."

_Wonderful_.

"Then I guess I am, too," he told the table, and figured it was a moment as good as any other to make his exit. "I'll see you tomorrow in school."

"Stefan, wait."

He was halfway through the door when he heard the voice, and turned to see the girl from before staring at him. She looked slightly embarrassed, as if she hadn't expected him to hear – had he been a human, he wouldn't have.

"Hey," he told her. "What is it?"

"I was wondering," she began, "if you need a ride home. I know you're new in town, and probably don't have a car yet, and I know where your uncle lives because he's a friend of my mom, so –"

She stopped then, flushed. It was endearing, Stefan thought; he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a girl blush. He went for older women nowadays, for feeding or for anything else, worldly and cynical – nothing like this teenage girl with the curly hair and the pretty blue dress.

"I'm babbling, am I?"

"A little," Stefan conceded. "But don't worry, I've seen worse."

She smiled then, a flash of pearly white teeth, and her whole face lighted up. There was something _bright_ about her, and fresh, and _lively_ – and bright, lively things never did last long around him.

Still, he never really had any self control. "Thank you," he said. "I'd really appreciate it."

She beamed.

"So," the girl began, once they were both in the car. "Where did you live, before coming back here?"

Stefan paused for a moment then answered, truthfully. "London."

"London," she repeated, awed. "Wow. I wish I could go there. Does it really rain all the time?"

He had to laugh. "Sometimes. But – we moved around a lot," he added, before she could ask more questions, about English schools, and life, and other things he had no idea about. He really didn't feel like making up a back story on the spot. "I only visited friends, during the summer."

"Right," she nodded. "Military family, right?"

It was a statement more than a question, and Stefan impressed at her confidence. "Right."

"Take a left here," he added. "The house's right –"

"Absolutely not, new guy," she cut him off, smiling a cheeky grin. "We're taking the scenic route, I'm showing you off all the amazing wonders of our great town, so I don't feel like a complete hick listening to you being all worldly."

"You see," she continued. "At our right we can see the river, and the woods, and even more woods. I'm not about to let you miss all this."

Stefan laughed again. "Of course, you're right. I couldn't have lived another day without seeing all these wonderful pines."

"Told ya! So, your turn – what's your favourite part of London?" she asked. "I'm not trying to be noisy, I just – don't travel much and I'm so curious. I need to live vicariously through someone."

"It's fine, Caroline," Stefan heard himself say. "Don't worry."

_Caroline_, uh. Judging by her lack of a negative reaction, he'd been right – so he _did_ manage to remember her name after all. _Caroline_. It suited her, as vivid and musical as the rest of her.

They kept talking all the way to the boarding house and, when Stefan got out of the car, he was smiling. "I'll see you around," he told her. "Good night, Caroline."

* * *

Zach was on him the moment he went through the door.

"Animal attack, Stefan. Again?"

"It wasn't me," Stefan said, not even bothering to slow down and look the man in the eye. Zach really had no idea of how _fucking_ _hard_ it was for Stefan not to kill everyone in sight, starting with him, and he really couldn't be bothered listening to his accusations.

"You know what," Zach told him, grabbing his arm. "I think you don't belong here anymore."

_That's it_.

"And I," Stefan said, slamming him against the wall, grasp tight enough to make sure that it _hurt_. "Think that I don't have to explain myself to anybody, especially not to you, and you should really stop it _right fucking now_."

He turned on his back, and made for his bedroom.

"I'm just saying," Zach continued – and, honest, was the guy suicidal? –

but then he probably was –

"I'm just saying, that coming back here was a mistake."

"And I'm just saying," Stefan said. "Shut up. Or I will."

He slammed the door, but the echo of Zach's words followed him. And, worst of all, he was _right_.

Stefan _was_ a vampire, a monster, a killer – a weak soul who surrounded himself with people even worse than he was to feel better. He was planning to kill a _seventeen-year-old_, for god's sake, and he really, really shouldn't be pretending to be someone else, going to _school_ of all things, and to the pub, and chatting up a girl ten times younger than he was.

After all, it was never going to last.

He went to the stupid school the day after, and to the party in the woods, trying to ignore Caroline's expectant smile. How many girls had Stefan killed, in his long life? How many had been just like her, beautiful and promising and with a whole life wide open in front of them?

"You know," he heard someone say. It was Elena. "You're kind of the talk of the town."

_Interesting_. "Am I?"

They stood together like that for a while, making awkward conversation, until he heard a faint scream in the distance. _It doesn't really mean anything_, Stefan thought. But still…

"Excuse me," he told Elena. "I'm gonna get a drink."

"I'll come with you," she offered, smiling. _Right_, he thought to himself, _that's not happening_. Not with a vampire on the loose.

He grabbed her by the arm and she turned to look at him, surprised. "Elena," Stefan began, meeting her eyes. "Are you on vervain?"

"I might be," she said, her voice assuming the familiar, relaxed tones of compulsion. "I don't know what that is."

She wasn't. _Had_ she been on vervain, knowingly or not, she wouldn't have felt the impulse to answer his question in the most exhaustive way possible. Still, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't have any vervain-filled pendant or trinket at home, not when she was from a Founding Family. Thankfully, simple vervain wasn't enough to override a compulsion once it had been placed.

Only death could do that – and Stefan had no intention of dying.

"All right," he told Elena. "Here's the thing. From now, if I tell you to do something…" he paused, thinking. That was too general of an instruction. He needed something more subtle, unobtrusive, something that wouldn't be noticed. He maintained his gaze trailed on Elena's eyes, taking notice of the shimmering eyeshadow on her lids. "Okay, when I tell you do something, ending the sentence with the word _gold_, you're going to do it immediately and then forget about it."

"Do you understand?" She nodded. "Go get another drink and forget we've had this conversation. Don't follow me"

He felt only the barest twinge of guilt as she walked away. He'd done nothing bad, after all – it was only a failsafe, so to speak, nothing big and still potentially unlimited in its use if things should get messy. And now, that screaming girl…

Stefan moved in closer to the edge of the woods, but whoever had screamed was now silent – or maybe dead. Maybe he should go check –

"Hey!" It was Caroline, still smiling. "How are you? Have you been down to the falls yet? Because they are really cool at night. And I can show you, if you want. It's really pretty."

"You," Stefan told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Have definitely drunk too much."

"Well, _duh_, new guy. It's a party."

"Caroline," Stefan continued, trying to look stern. If she went to the Falls, if _really_ there was a vampire around…. "Look, you and me, it's not gonna happen." _You're too young and pretty and charming to die_, he thought, _and that's what happens whenever I'm around_.

"Sorry."

And he really was – she looked crushed, deflated, a flash of pain in her bright blue eyes; but it wasn't long before she plastered a smile on her face. "Right," she said. "Excuse me, please."

And Stefan could do nothing but stare as she walked away.

And then he heard screams, again.

When he returned home, Damon was waiting for him.

* * *

**Yeah, I know – no Klaus in MF. I'm a horrible tease, but I needed a way to make the plot happen and then the chapter one kinda got away from me. Now, IMPORTANT QUESTION: this was mean to be a really short story, around 20k words – but it's shaping up to be at least twice that. I can try and keep it contained (glossing over most canon-related detail and only focusing on the AU scenes) or I can keep going like in this chapter, merging everything together. That way, the story will obviously end up being longer. Whaddaya think? Do let me know by completing this practical template:**

**Dear Elle (that'd be me)  
this chapter was (seriously lacking/okay/awesome), putting in lines from the show was (a good idea/fine/don't do it again). One thing I really liked/disliked from this chapter was (..).  
For the future (keep the story short and to the point/make it as long as possible) and also one thing/one character I really want in this story is (..)  
(Your name)**

**Thanks for reading, folks – have a good day!**


	3. Control

Reviews response: to irish-gal yep, Stefan does occasionally brood here, too. I'm afraid he wouldn't be Stefan otherwise. Anonymus – thanks! The Klaus/Stefan interaction (and BTW, do you mean platonic interaction or actually smutty interaction? I'm curious!) is coming really soon. As for canon-related details, I obviously mean only the canon details that are related to the story's main characters, but that's it – S1 was pretty boring with all the Elena-centric bit and I'm skippin that. Elena's in the fic as Caroline's friend and because Klaus is obsessed with her, but she's not a main character. Vampirefan14 – _amazing_ suggestion! Also, Klaus _was_ supposed to get to MF last chapter, but then it got too long…

* * *

**Hello there! I'm putting this out first thing – I don't particularly like this chapter. It was _hard_ to write, but I'm glad is done since from now on the story gets well and truly AU – and hopefully interesting. Also, uhm, for those of you who had guessed that this was coming, I am really sorry. It just had to be done.**

**BTW, I've been rewatching season One before writing this and – just _how lame_ were those journal reading voice-overs in the first episodes? I laughed so much, and remembered why it got me half a season to get into TVD – it started out so crappy, it makes the first episodes of _The Originals_ look like _Game of Thrones_.**

* * *

Control

* * *

_Caroline, look… you and me, it's not gonna happen_.

Right, of course. Why had she even dared to hope that maybe – _just maybe_ – things could be different this time? Maybe it had been Stefan's attitude, the way he carried himself like he was so different from the other boys Caroline was used to, so much more mature. The way they'd talked the other night, of something that _wasn't_ sport, or movies, or sex. Too good to be true, she should've known.

And so she kept her smile firmly in place, the same bright smile she'd spotted at Cheerleading Regionals when Shelley Dunn had stumbled and almost dropped her halfway through the stunt she'd spent _months_ perfecting.

"Right," she told him, trying to look calm and confident. "Excuse me, please." She left, taking small steps – even though she wanted to run. So what if Stefan had rejected her? At least he'd had the honesty not to string her along to get to Elena, like pretty much everyone else had done.

Caroline let out a relieved breath when she spotted Bonnie in the distance, chatting with a cute senior with curly black hair.

"And here's my amazing, fantastic, wonderful ride."

Bonnie rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Right. And here's Drunk Caroline, it's been a while. Please tell me your mother is not at home."

"Mom is not at home." Caroline assured her, still smiling. _When is she ever?_

"Whatever you say," Bonnie said. "But I'm still taking you at the Grill until you… sober up a little. My grams would kill me if I got arrested."

"But would she really?" Caroline gave her a playful push on the shoulder. "From what you tell me about her…"

"Okay, time out." She turned back to the boy. "So I'll see you tomorrow, right? PE?"

Caroline observed, curious, as the boy nodded and Bonnie smiled at him. "Alright," she heard her friend say, with that post-first-date awkwardness that comes when you really don't know where to put your hands. Or mouth. Or both.

In the end Bonnie settled for a sort of… pat, on his arm, friendly but not quite, and Caroline giggled quietly to herself. _Cute_. She always kissed on the first date, whatever that made her – when the boy inevitably didn't come back, at least she'd had some fun out of it.

"Why, Bonnie Bennett," she started teasing, once they were in the car. "Who's the cutie?"

"Brandon," Bonnie said, in an undertone. "Hardin. From Trig class?"

"Brandon Hardin," Caroline repeated, trying the name for size. She wasn't bitter that Bonnie had scored when she hadn't – not at all. Brandon Hardin had horrible fashion sense and was _failing Trig in senior year_, for god's sake. Nope. Not jealous. Not at all.

"Cute hair, horrible clothes," was her final judgment. "Please help him get a fashion sense, Bonnie, seriously."

Bonnie laughed. "I'll try my best," she said. "As soon as you tell me what's wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me," Caroline said – maybe too fast. "Well, except that I'm drunk," she added. "But I promise I won't puke in your car."

"Ugh, gross."

Bonnie dropped it, and she was glad. The last thing Caroline wanted was to have to talk about Stefan Salvatore with anyone – ever again. Good riddance.

Her newfound resolution lasted maybe ten minutes – until they got to the Grill, and to two steamy cups of hot coffee. _How lame,_ she thought to herself. _This_ wasn't the way Caroline had pictured her evening going today, when she'd paid extra attention to her outfit and hair, and put on that stupid sticky lipstick she hated – but it made her look _so_ good.

And now she was staring hypnotized at her coffee, like it held the key to the mysteries of the universe. _Liquid courage, my ass_. She was never, _ever_ getting this drunk again.

"You sober yet?"

_Thank you, Bonnie_. Sometimes she thought that even her mom couldn't have done a better job guilt-tripping her than Bonnie – even if she'd bothered, which Liz Forbes almost never did.

"No." Her head wouldn't spin so much if she were sober, right?

"Caroline, hurry. I want to go home." Yep, worse than her mom. Bonnie was too mature to be true - maybe it was Ms. Sheila's fondness for liquor that made her glare whenever she drank to much. _Or maybe I'm drunk and depressed and being a bitch_, she told herself, but couldn't shake the thought that Bonnie was more than happy to play sober cab to _Elena_ all the time.

Nope, no thinking about that.

But Stefan…

Damn.

"Bonnie?" she called out – and hey, she didn't sound _that_ drunk. Good to know. "You know, he turned me down? Stefan Salvatore?"

"Caroline…"

"Oh, don't _Caroline_ me," she raised her head to glare at Bonnie – or squint, whatever. It's hard to glare when everything is just _so_ bright. "You're supposed to say that he's an ass, and stupid, and _ugly_."

Bonnie wasn't saying anything though – and, _seriously_? She was supposed to insult him to no end. "Why didn't he go for me?" she found herself asking, voicing the thoughts she usually kept to herself. "You know, how come the guys that I want never want me?"

"Well…" Bonnie began, with that brace-for-disaster voice Caroline knew well. "Maybe you were just – too late? And he's already made a move on someone else? I mean, he _was_ at Elena's house yesterday, right? They came together."

She'd forgotten about that. Hell, she had decided not to think much about Elena in the first place, new school year's resolution and all that, because it's _not_ cool to envy the girl whose parents just died, and –

Of-fucking-course it would be _that_, and if Bonnie had said it to make her feel better, girl code and everything, she was a lousy girlfriend.

"Caroline?"

"You know what, I think we should just go home," she told Bonnie. "I'm feeling much better now." Especially after the metaphoric equivalent of a cold-shower.

Her mom wasn't home, _obviously_ – dark house, no car on the driveway. "Thanks Bonnie." For the ride, for hearing her out – and for remembering her, once again, that some people are just born to be second best.

* * *

In the two weeks since Stefan had left London for Mystic Falls, Klaus had rummaged the earth in search of the moonstone.

Maybe not literally, alright, but he'd dedicated each and every one of his considerable resources to finding the bloody thing, the sooner the better. He was... not really optimistic, but still fairly confident that he would find it, eventually. After all, the last time he'd _seriously_ looked for the stone it had been more than three century earlier, before New Orleans took all of his attention. And after that – well, he really hadn't thought much about it.

But still, the world was smaller now, and money could buy almost literally everything. So, why was he still nervous?

_Because this time you care_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Stefan told him. Which,_ shut the fuck up, Stefan_ –

and really... wasn't it amusing that his conscience had to sound like the only person he cared about outside his family, the man who alternated between being so compassionate as to be ridiculous, and being a cold-blooded, imaginative killer – and when Stefan was in one of his ripper moods, Klaus was the one who had to reign in him, to avoid an even bigger mess when the guilt came back.

But Stefan, even if he was only a voice in his head, was right. He did care, maybe to much. Hell, breaking the curse had been his whole life for five hundred years, and when Katerina had escaped he'd been... more than furious –

an empty shell, a man without a purpose.

It wouldn't happen again.

Frowning to himself, he took his phone out of his pocket, dialled a number and pressed _call_. One ring. Two. Then, woman's voice on the other side, suspicion in her voice. "Yes?"

"Bianca, sweetheart," he greeted. "How's things?"

"Klaus," she breathed, sounding even less pleased. He smiled to himself.

"Any news?"

Bianca was one of his best informant, a two-hundred years old vampire based in New York City. _Literally_ based in New York – she'd been compelled not to leave her place for more than a week every year, like all of his informants were. And, like the others, she owed and resented him in equal way – glad for the eternal life he'd given her when she'd been the daughter of poor immigrants living on the streets, and hating him for the decades spent in virtual imprisonment.

"Nothing," she said, and he swore to himself. _Damn_.

Katerina had lived in New York for three years before the Civil War – just before leaving for Atlanta, and then for Virginia where she had, by all accounts, been burned to death. Still, he had appropriated the woman's valuables decades earlier, but there had been no stone – he could only imagine she'd hidden it somewhere, _anywhere_.

Katerina Petrova, screwing up his plans once again even from beyond the grave.

"Klaus?" he heard Bianca's voice call. "What do you want me to do?"

He repressed a sigh. "The usual." Which meant, _watch out for Mikael_. "And be ready to leave for Virginia just in case, would you? I'll keep in touch."

The was a pause on the line, and he smirked to himself. As much as the woman disliked him, she would welcome the novelty of leaving even more, and feel indebted to him for it. Carrots and sticks, and all that.

"Yes," she said eventually, voice softened – and he suspected he hadn't been meant to hear that. He ended the call, smile widening. _Small victories_.

After that, he made more calls. If nothing turned up anywhere else, it was time to take a personal trip to Virginia.

* * *

Life went on as usual, and Caroline most definitely did not think about Stefan Salvatore – not even once.

Okay, _maybe_ once. Or twice.

But she really couldn't avoid it, not when he sat every day next to her in French class every day, and she tried with all herself to focus on Miss Hilton's voice and nothing else –

and sometimes it even worked.

But, really, it wasn't that bad. Caroline was a pro at keeping busy, and even better at pretending everything was fine. And so, after spending the day struggling with homework and cheer practice and choosing the perfect outfit – not to mention, wasn't about time to start planning the Homecoming Dance?

– after doing everything and more, she really didn't have time to think about annoying boys with stupid hair. She could do much better; like, listening to Bonnie's stories about Ms. Sheila's latest crazy.

"So, you're a witch."

"Yep," her friend agreed. "Looks like I am."

They were walking together through the corridors, going from Trig to the History classroom – and, seriously, that Brandon guy Bonnie liked? _So_ not worth it – and talking about Bonnie's famed Salem ancestors, and Caroline was feeling positively new age-y.

"You should tell Vicky Donovan about it. Or – wait, Jeremy? They'd love your grams's stories. They would all, like, beg her to teach them witchy things."

Bonnie let out a giggle and elbowed her in the arm. "So not cool, Care."

"Okay." Vicky Donovan was still in the hospital, recovering from whatever crazy beast had attacked her, so maybe that _wasn't_ cool – but Jeremy Gilbert was fair game. Every time Caroline was over at Elena's she would be treated with new stories of the younger Gilbert acting out and generally doing his best to get poor Jenna to lose her custody.

"So..." Caroline asked, going back on topic. "What _are_ you exactly? Psychic, or clairvoyant?"

Bonnie laughed. "Apparently, none of the two. But I'd like to be both."

"Can you read me my future?"

"Absolutely," Bonnie nodded. "I foresee you'll meet a tall, dark stranger."

_Been there, done that_. "That's so unoriginal, Bon." Then she remembered about the _other_ dark stranger, the one she'd gotten a glimpse of the other day. Older, leather jacket, _much_ cooler than he-who-shall-not-be-named.

"Actually," she added, smiling. "I think you might be right."

* * *

It was karaoke night at the Grill – which meant horrible drunken songs, and too many people for the waiters to actually pay attention to the age of the person they were serving.

"Basically," Bonnie was saying, "my grams said that the comet is a sign of impending doom, whatever that's supposed to mean. Apparently the last time it was in the sky here – you know, during the Civil War? Lots of people died, and created paranormal activity."

She took another sip of her coffee. "And then she fell asleep. And that was my weekend, in a nutshell."

That was still more interesting than Caroline's weekend – nails and that History project, and then skyping with her dad and trying to come up with a decent homecoming theme, all the while wanting nothing more than get wrist-deep into a box of ice-cream and crawl into bed. _Boring, boring, boring_. And these were supposed to be the best years of her life?

"What about you, Elena?" she asked. "Done anything interesting?"

"Nope," Elena shook her head. "Jeremy spent all the weekend at the hospital with Vicky, and Jenna got worried about him. You know, usual drama."

She paused, then smiled. "But, I did go over to Stefan's house today, to give him back a book – I met his brother, too."

Wonderful, Caroline's new least favourite topic.

But she could hardly tell Elena that, could she?

"Really?" Bonnie asked. "What happened?"

Elena frowned, eyes narrowing. "You know," she said, slowly. "I actually can't remember very well. But," she concluded, smile back on her face, "the brother's really hot."

"I thought you liked Stefan." Caroline spoke without really thinking. It sounded like an accusation. "I mean," she added, trying to savage the situation. "Going over to his house for a book? Seems pretty flimsy to me." It wouldn't be bad, if Elena liked Stefan. Yet once again Elena got the cute boy interested in her, without even trying - if she really liked him, then it would be fine. Elena deserved happiness more than everyone else. But if she threw him away, that boy Caroline had wanted and Elena had gotten and discarded, then –

then she would be furious, and resentful, and her own Caroline-special brand of _pathetic_.

_Matt Donovan all over again_, she thought to herself. She should know, Matt had been her first crush, her first kiss. It hadn't lasted much after that.

"So you like him?" she asked again.

Elena nodded, and Caroline smiled. She could play the supportive friend just fine – and after a while, she would forget she'd even liked Stefan. "Right. Then why have you not jumped his bones yet? That's how it works, you know," she added. "Girl likes boy, boy likes girl. Sex."

Nothing said _supportive_ like asking for the dirty details – and, after all, living vicariously was kind of her thing. So what if maybe she would listen to Elena's little stories with a bit _too_ much attention?

Elena made a face. "Profound."

"Oh, don't be a prude." Caroline stuck her tongue out at her. Had anyone else said that, she would've given her rehearsed speech – her failsafe for the sort of comments every pretty, popular girl was bound to receive sooner or later. Something about how slut-shaming was a thing of the past, how a modern woman felt empowered by herself regardless of how many boys she slept with. Then again, Caroline's own experience wasn't terribly vast – but that was her own damn business, _thankyouverymuch_.

"The thing is," Elena spoke up, after a while. "I'm not even sure he _likes_ me."

_Oh, don't fish for compliments_, Caroline thought, maybe uncharitably. But Elena _did_ do that – repeating how _not special_ she was, until everyone around her started complimenting her to no end. But still, some part of her couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, for one she hadn't been turned down for Elena – maybe she'd just been turned down for no reason at all. It felt surprisingly _good_.

"Don't be an idiot," Bonnie said, when it was clear Caroline wouldn't talk. "He gave you a romance book, what more do you want?"

"You know what," Caroline said, standing up. She felt much too alive to sit down there moping. "I just remembered I have to go home to make dinner for my mom before she goes on the night shift." She gave her friends her brilliant, future-Homecoming-queen smile. "See you guys tomorrow in school?"

And she was out of the door in no time, hurrying to her car.

"Hello," she heard a voice call, making her jump.

Caroline looked around the parking lot, frowning. She mentally went through her checklist – go for the groin, elbow is the strongest part of your body, pinch his arm if he grabs you, run like hell – before noticing _the_ guy, the one she'd seen the other day, standing close to her car.

"Sorry," he said. His eyes, she noticed, were amazing, even in the dim light. She'd never seen a man with such beautiful eyes before, and body, and face. _Fuck you, Stefan Salvatore_. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh, is nothing," she told him. _Way to go, Caroline_. Hot older guy, and she had to jump like a frightened rabbit. "I hoped I'd see you again."

He gave her a smile that was too cocky to call it anything but a smirk. "I know."

And _that_ went straight to her head. Or other parts, really – _guess confidence really is sexy as they say_. "That's pretty arrogant of you, wouldn't you say?" She smiled at him, playing with her hair and thought that maybe, just _maybe_, this week wouldn't be anywhere as lame as the past weekend.

"Terribly arrogant," he agreed, smirk still firm in place. Caroline took a breath. _Here goes nothing_.

"Do you want a ride?"

That incredibly cocky smile widened even more. "I'd love to."

* * *

Control was such a frail, feeble thing.

You have it, you lose, you _crave_ it. For Caroline Forbes, control was the perfect way to deal with life. Everything had to be ordered just so, that skirt with those shoes, the pens on her desk close enough to grab, far enough not to roll over the edge. Sex is the antithesis of control, letting yourself go, losing it –

being oh-so-vulnerable for a brief moment, at your weakest, and what if you aren't perfect, just this very moment?

He would know, then, the boy. And that really, really wouldn't do. She did, after all, have a reputation to maintain.

To Caroline, control was everything. When it came to sex, control came in the form of boys from out of town, just passing through – drunk college students that she would never have to see again, never have to worry about people whispering behind her back about how perfect Caroline looked like when she can't quite figure out how to move –

That maybe she wasn't so perfect after all.

There's a certain safety in doing the choosing , going after some nameless, faceless frat boy with too much beer in his system. And so what if his hands shake too much, if he grasps her hips a bit too tightly, if he leaves her aching and wanting and utterly _alone_ –

At least it's better than the alternative. At least, this way, no one would ever walk away on her if she was the one doing the leaving.

To Caroline, the fumbling strangers were the height of perfection, the best that someone like her could get –until along came the mysterious stranger with his bright eyes and mischievous smile, and promises of passion and unbearable pleasure, and so when he asked to come in she told him _yes, why not_ –

and when he kissed her she kissed back, hungrily, because she was so tired of coming second best. And then it was a mess of greedy fingers and bruising mouths and finally, _finally_, cool air on naked skin, and the skill of someone who knows of to play her like a musical instrument, drawing out the perfect melody.

Caroline, for her part, was kind of playing it by ear, but he laughs at her enthusiasm and he doesn't complain, and when you are sixteen and hate your life then this – this is as close to heaven as it gets.

And it felt good – oh, so good, again and again, and _again_.

Until it didn't feel so good anymore, teeth against her neck, her blood flowing, and she _screamed_.

He laughed. "Hush now," he told her, and to her growing horror Caroline realized that she couldn't scream anymore. She tried pushing him away then, to no result. He was everywhere, his boy on hers, around her, _inside_ her, and so heavy, and she was so weak.

Caroline had never felt more useless in her life.

_Is this how I die?_

When she woke up, she wasn't dead – but there was blood on her sheets, a wound on her neck, and a monster in her bed. Maybe, if she didn't make a sound. One foot after the other, as light as possible, closer and _closer_ to the door –

he caught her.

* * *

"Guess what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Klaus said, slowly. It was four in the morning, and he'd just been woken up by an impromptu phone call from Stefan – who, apparently, wanted to chat. "You decide to be an annoying idiot for no reason? I _was_ sleeping."

And rather soundly, at that. Whoever said that there's no rest for the wicked obviously hadn't done a single wicked action in their boring, useless lives, because evil _did_ sleep, quite often – all that murdering and fucking and scheming consumed energy.

"Wrong," Stefan said. "Guess again?"

"Stefan," Klaus breathed, rubbing his eyes with one end. "Do stop playing games and _hurry the fuck up_ – and I really hope you have a reason for calling or next time I see you I'll break your neck."

"Charming," Stefan began, then continued speaking before he could say anything. "You know, my brother has that exact same attitude. And I know this, because my brother is currently _not_ sleeping next door, because he's back in town – and really, this place is hell."

"So what, is this a complaining call?" Over the years he'd heard much about Stefan's brother Damon, even though they'd never met. Stefan had told him that he and Damon didn't get along – something about an eternity of misery, which had made him laugh to no end because, really, the Salvatores had _nothing_ on his family – but it had been clear that the two still cared about each other.

"I suppose so," Stefan agreed. "And it looks like Damon's going to stay for good, which is going to ruin your perfectly laid plans since Damon is batshit crazy." He paused for a moment. "Think Kol."

Oh, _fuck_. He didn't even realize he'd said it out loud – until he heard Stefan snicker on the other side. "Quite."

"And how's the doppelganger?" he asked. "Still alive, I hope?"

"Very much alive," Stefan said. "She has a brother, keeps a diary, and we take AP English together." He sounded like he was reciting a shopping list. "_S_he likes boring English classics, is in the cheerleading squad, and met my brother yesterday."

He closed his eyes. _Damn_. "So, that's why you called?"

"That's one of the reasons, yes."

He could guess without asking that the other reason had been to be a pain in the ass calling at four in the morning. "Can you just kill your brother? What's one more family member?"

"You," Stefan informed him, coolly, "are an asshole."

"I've been called worse." Even from Stefan himself, many times. "So, fine, not killing your brother. Here's a new idea – how about compelling him to stay quiet?"

It took Stefan a second to grasp the implication. "What, you're coming here?"

"In a few days," Klaus told him. Truth be told, he was _curious_ to see how his birthplace would look, so many years later. He'd never come to visit in the three centuries since he'd first arrived to the New World all over again, and he couldn't deny that the idea had its appeal. Kol had been to Mystic Falls once, in the Seventies, but he'd told Klaus that it was nothing worth returning to. _Boringville, Virginia_, his brother had called it – but still, he wanted to see with his own eyes.

Maybe things would turn up interesting, in the end.

* * *

"So, you're dating Damon now?"

It was Elena, Caroline figured she must have seen them when he'd dropped her off at school. She frowned. "I think so."

She and Damon hadn't really had the whole relationship talk – hell, they'd barely made it through the morning-after talk before going at it again – but she wanted to see him again. He _was_ pretty hot, after all, and older, and had gone after her _first_.

Then she registered Elena's words. "Wait... how do you know Damon? His name, I mean. I thought he was new in town?"

"Well, he's Stefan's brother," she said, matter-of-factly, like it was common knowledge – which, nope, it wasn't. "Wait," Elena continued. "You didn't know? How did you met?"

Caroline frowned again. How _had_ they met again? They'd had pretty mind-blowing sex, this morning, and yesterday – there was _something_ about yesterday. "Oh, the Grill," she remembered. "We met at the Grill."

"Of course," Elena laughed. "Stupid of me. It's not like there's any other place to meet in this town, right?"

"Right," Caroline agreed, fingers playing with the hem of her scarf as Elena walked away. Why had she chosen to wear a scarf today, again? It was _August_, for god's sake. At it didn't go with her perfectly-matched outfit. She was about to take it off, then changed her mind – why not to keep it? Damon had told her how good it looked on her.

She kept it on.

* * *

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked him another time, his fingers rubbing slow circles against her shoulder. Her voice was perfectly calm, and Caroline knew why – it was because he'd _compelled_ her not to be scared. Compulsion. A pretty interesting trick, she'd decided. If _she_ had compulsion, it would make things so much easier.

Then again, if she had compulsion she wouldn't be vampire snack to begin with.

If she had compulsion, she would've made sure that the person compelled couldn't remember that she had it in the first place. Damon, Caroline decided, was terribly, terribly sloppy. Sometimes he made her forget that he was a vampire unless they were together – but one morning he'd gotten lazy, telling her simply not to tell anyone about it, and that memory had remained.

After that, every time she noticed a strange bruise or a sore pack of skin, she would remember that morning and think – _right, it's my vampire boyfriend_.

Then again, he wasn't really her boyfriend, was he? Fuck the cotton candy definitions of her Twilight-generation, he wasn't her anything –

but she was _his_, body and mind.

"Yes."

Yes, he was going to kill her.

And she wasn't afraid about it – not at all. Caroline could appreciate the clarity of mind that came with that particular compulsion – hell, she might even have thanked Damon for giving her a hold on rationality. She suspected she would be an absolute, sobbing mess otherwise.

Then again, the simple idea of thanking Damon for anything, ever, was simply laughable – after he'd been such a –

Monster?

Attacker?

vampire. Considering her below him – must be another of those things that came along with immortality, together with the allergy to sunlight and the cravings for blood.

And then a thought hit her – if _Damon_ was a vampire, was Stefan one, too? If, if, if. Elena had told her that the two couldn't stand each other. She'd been forbidden to tell anyone about Damon that morning, but he hadn't said anything about writing. She could slip a note to Stefan in French class, and hope for the best.

Yeah, she could do that.

Or she could just wait to die.

Damon kissed her then, gently, like a lover –

and she kissed him back, because he might have gotten angry if she hadn't, and because she was scared, but most of all because she wanted to –Damon was every bit an amazingly good kisser as he was an uncaring murderer, and she was going to die anyway, and she wanted to feel _good_ before the light went out.

And if she died –

If she died, who would remember her, who would cry for her? That was the upside of having no fear, the gift Damon had given her among all the pain. Not even death scared her now.

Then... why not to try? Maybe she could find a way to do… something. Anything. Damon had laughed at her Twilight books and told her that the sun didn't hurt him, but there had been _something_ about wooden stakes. But Caroline Forbes could never even consider the idea of actually – what? _staking a vampire?_ It sounded ridiculous even in her own mind.

Stefan, she remembered. Stefan_ had_ to know, couldn't not know. Stefan could help her, if he wanted to. He would put the pieces together, noticed the stupid scarf –

the horrible scarf, the one she could never take it off. Even in the privacy of her bedroom, even when the wounds reopened and red stains started to show – she couldn't take the damn thing off, like a fucking dog collar. Damon had to be the one to take it off, while he fucked her, before biting her again, and then he would pick up a new one for her to wear. Caroline idly wondered how her neck looked like – so scarred, probably, that she would never be able not to wear a scarf ever again.

It was that thought, more than anything, that made her decide. She wasn't ready to die, not quite yet.

_Here goes nothing._

* * *

The next day, Stefan got a note during French Class. It was only three words long, and his first reaction was surprise – not at Damon's action, but that he would choose someone he knew – what _were_ the chances?

And then he turned to look at Caroline, bright young Caroline with her whole shining life ahead, and she looked close to tears, staring at him with such hope, he almost recoiled in his seat. No one had ever looked at him like that, even when he'd been human – like he held the keys to salvation.

And then Stefan Salvatore, the ripper of Monterrey, a ruthless killer of man who couldn't remember the last time he'd done something, anything, that could be considered _good_ –

he just smiled at the blonde girl, and nodded, and mouthed _I'll do it_ and when she smiled back, looking like she could burst with happiness –

it was beautiful.

* * *

**You know what else is beautiful? Feedback. So please, feed the muse! (Also: 60 followers – this is insane, thank you!) BTW – next chapter has Klaus in Mystic Falls and things going really, really AU. For future reference, I'm following S1 plot pretty closely, but ignoring all the Elena-centric romantic drama that makes up about 80% of the episodes.**

**Again, I'll definitely take suggestions into consideration (thank you again Vampirefan14!) and, if there's anything you'd like to see, let me know via writing something like this:**

**_Dear Elle,  
I really liked/disliked Caroline/Klaus/Stefan/Damon here, and putting Damon (was a horrible idea/I liked it / made me cry/ I hate you). One thing I liked/didn't like about this chapter was (***) , and one I really would like to see in the story is (***).  
(Your name)_**


End file.
